We walk into the modern, glass encased mid-rise on Michigan Avenue that houses Ma Maison. Eight more of Ma Maison’s high-end escorts are already gathered in the lobby.
Lily and Scarlett are talking to each other at the far end of the vestibule. Scarlett waves to me.
Amelia punches the elevator button.
My phone starts pinging.
Dylan: Plane delayed in Louisville. Tornadoes.
Evie: Crap.
Dylan: I don’t know when we’re landing. Don’t wait up for me.
Dylan: Miss you.
Evie: Miss you back.
And I do. Dylan’s my rock. Not the kind I want to throw into the ocean.
Dylan: Got a surprise for you.
Evie: Not holding my breath.
Dylan: Good. ’Cause I like my girl with color in her cheeks.
Dylan: Love you.
Evie: Who are you and where have you hidden my boyfriend, Dylan McAlister?
Dylan: Ha.
Dylan: See you soon. I’ve got a key. I’ll let myself in.
Huh? Am I losing my mind? Or am I not remembering stuff?
Evie: When did I give you a key?
Dylan: A few trips ago.
The elevator door opens. Amelia and Victoria step inside. Five more women join them. Amelia holds the door open for me with her hand, her diamond bracelet glittering. “Come on.”
“Don’t want to be late,” Victoria says.
Dylan: Why? Do you want it back?
Evie: No, dork.
Evie: I def want you to have a key.
Evie: Got to go. Can’t wait to see you!
We stand in the elevator, apply lipstick and run our hands through our hair.
“I hope we don’t have to re-negotiate our contracts,” Amelia says.
“Who’s going to be at this meeting?” I ask.
“The new owner,” Victoria says. “I practically had to beat that information out of Madame, the tight-lipped bitch, when I landed back in Chicago a week ago,” Victoria says. “Thank me later.”
“You got her high, didn’t you?” I ask.
“Fuck you, Berlinger.” Victoria bursts out laughing. “You know all my tricks.”
“Yeah, well, yeah,” I say and smile at her.
Madame’s assistant, Jay, escorts us into her office. “Thanks,” I say.
“Can I get you ladies anything?” He asks.
“No, thank you,” I say.
“I’m good,” Victoria says.
“We’re perfect,” Amelia says. “Thank you.”
“Madame will be with you shortly,” he says and leaves the room.
I walk to the windows and gaze out at the storm clouds barreling across Chicago’s skyline and Lake Michigan in all her choppy, white-capped glory.
“Ladies,” Madame says, entering. She takes a seat behind her Louis XIV desk all shiny and glossy. “Thanks for coming.”
“So excited,” one girl says.
“You should be,” Madame says. “We’ve got some exciting news for Ma Maison. New ownership. We’re expanding into a few different cities. We’re adding and modifying tiers for our independent contractors.”
“Independent contractors meaning us?” Scarlett asks.
“Yes. We’re adding health care options, incentivizing programs, bonuses.”
“Wow,” another pretty girl says.
‘Something doesn’t feel right,’ Hope says.
‘Get the hell out of Dodge.’ Queasy paces.
Madame hits the intercom button on her phone. “Jay. Show in our new CEO, please.”
Amelia, Victoria and I look at each other in silent partnership as the door opens.
And in walks Easton Wolfe.
“Madame Marchand. Ladies. I’m Easton Wolfe. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Some of you I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Some I haven’t.”
A buzz builds around the room.
“Yay,” Amelia says breaking out in a grin.
“Crap,” Victoria mumbles.
I turn and stare out the window. Thunder rumbles, a lightning bolt zaps down from the heavens and strikes in the distance.
I am damned.
I am doomed.
I am exquisitely —
Fantastically —
Fucked.
24
Your Devoted Fan
YOUR DEVOTED FAN
Dear Evelyn:
* * *
Sorry I haven’t written lately. There’s so much going on. Work. Family. You know the drill. It’s never ending. Just when I think I’ve finally got a handle on everything, one leg of the four-legged stool collapses. I’m wobbling around, trying to hold up all the shit, balancing career and life and love. I don’t want to drop it all. I don’t want all the parts of the game to smash onto the ground and shatter into a million pieces.
* * *
It gets so messy when that happens.
* * *
You know the blue box I left on your bed? I bought another one recently. Just like yours, but bigger. I keep things in it that remind me of you.
* * *
A small bottle of the perfume you wear. A selection of photos of you from over the years. One of your lipsticks. Locks of your hair that your boyfriend, Dylan, cut a few years back. When he was worried about ‘bad guys’ targeting you. For a smart guy he can be a bit simplistic at times. Almost childlike. I found that in the envelope in your desk drawer. Oh, and I keep a copy of the newspaper article about the day your mom ran over the Wolfe brothers.
* * *
You probably think I just pen these letters and send them off as fast as I write them. But I don’t. This is hard work for me. Putting words together isn’t really my strength. That said, I am pouring my heart out to you on these pages, practically bleeding onto these pages. And yet, no matter how many times I write to you, no matter how many times I give you suggestions on ways to improve your life, you don’t change anything.
* * *
You keep living your life exactly how you want with no regard or care or kindness for anyone around you. Someday you’re going to wake up and realize that the choices you make have consequences. Someday you’re going to learn that every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Someday you’re going to change your mind.
* * *
So here I am trying to figure out a way to move forward. It’s not easy. It’s a lot of work. I can’t survive on hopes and dreams, you know. And much as I love spending my time sending you letters I think I’m going to keep this one to myself – for now.
* * *
I’m going to place this ‘love letter’ in the box with the other ones I haven’t sent. How many are there now? Ten? Twenty? I’ll put the cover back on, secure it with ribbon, and tuck it away for safe keeping.
* * *
I only want what’s best for you, Evelyn.
* * *
Until next time.
* * *
I am, as always,
* * *
Your Devoted Fan
Dear Reader: Thanks so much for reading MOVIE STAR. I hope you enjoyed. If you did, please consider leaving a review on the site where you purchased the book.
Evie’s journey continues in BELOVED #3 . Easton Wolfe’s taking over ownership of Ma Maison Agency. Dylan McAlister wants to take his relationship with Evie to the next level. Wyatt Wolfe is taking her heart.
But it’s Evie’s ‘Devoted Fan’ who wants to take her life…
——
21st CENTURY COURTESAN is a sexy, dark, addictive series filled with love, lust, family loyalty, deceit, revenge, and all the sweet little things in life worth killing for... 1-click BELOVED #3.
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Check out THE CLIENT a stand alone steamy romantic comedy with some bittersweet moments in the Playing Dirty series.
* * *
I was an underpaid assistant working at a matchmaking agency. How was it possible that I made a love match that resulted in the society marriage of the year?
I didn’t plan on running into the smoking hot, tuxedo-clad brick wall of a man at the wedding. I didn’t plan on him stopping my fall by grabbing onto my boob and Not. Letting. Go. I most definitely didn’t plan on this gorgeous man being my new CLIENT. One-Click THE CLIENT now!
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Turn the page to read a few excerpts. Happy reading.
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* * *
Pam
FREE: His Sexy Cinderella: A Crown Affair Prologue
Dear Reader: Start THE CROWN AFFAIR with His Sexy Cinderella - A Crown Affair Series Prologue — FREE! THE CROWN AFFAIR is the steamy royal romantic comedy series about Vivian, a down on her luck cocktail waitress, who gets caught up in a love triangle between two hot princes. (NOT menage!) In the end — who will win Vivian’s heart? Prince Max — the spare? Or Prince Leo — the heir?
PRAISE
"Deceit, suspense, jealously, heartbreak, love, angst—it was like reading a contemporary version of The Crown. I could not put this book down." April Symes
* * *
"I absolutely love Vivian and Max." Amy Stephens
* * *
"...story is most certainly ramped up... thanks to the introduction of the very dirty mind of a very hot ginger prince." Rae Sonethyn
* * *
"...heart all mushing, sexy and delightfully entertaining romantic comedy." A. Reviewer
DESCRIPTION
I, Maximillian Rochartè, am Prince of Bellèno, and I do the Crown’s dirty work. The monarchy borrowed millions from oligarchs and the loans are coming due. I unearthed a billionaire who will fork over a fortune in exchange for marrying his daughter, Lady Cici, to my brother the Crown Prince. But Cici has to delay and time’s running out.
* * *
I hire Vivian – an out of work cocktail waitress, as well as Cici’s look-alike – to impersonate her for 10 days tops. I teach her how to dress like a royal, talk like a royal, impersonate a royal. Vivian’s so pretty, feisty, funny, smart. I haven’t had this much fun with a woman in years and I'm dying to get her in the sack.
* * *
I, Maximillian Rochartè, am Prince of Bellèno. I can’t fall in love with an American commoner – or can I?
Chapter 1
* * *
VIVIAN
“Yo, Vivian! What does a guy have to do to get a drink around here?” the Hulk Hogan look-alike grunted.
“Just need to ask me nice, Mr. Fitzpatrick.” I shouldered a large, round tray with a few dirty glasses and made a beeline to his four-top table on the right side of the bar. I cocktailed at Mugshots, a beer-scented, hard rock 'n' roll playing, leather jacket-clad bikers’ bar.
Mr. Fitzpatrick and his buddies were in their late sixties with bandanas tied over their long, white hair. They were my favorite regular customers; rough around the edges but incredibly sweet. I picked up a few more empties. “What can I get you?”
“Vivian, my angel,” Mr. Fitzpatrick said. “I need three Jack and Cokes and one fake lemonade with no sugar for Artie. He’s on the wagon.”
“Got it. Artie. You okay? Not another ’bout of the gastritis?”
“It’s a blood sugar thing.” Artie tapped the heels of his scuffed, black leather biker boots on the scratched, wooden floor. “My wife keeps asking, ‘Why don’t you stop riding? When are you going to stay home, watch Jeopardy and play with your grandkids?’ Seriously, Viv. I’m already retired. I spend twenty-two hours of almost every day at home. I hit the road with my buddies one afternoon each week and after that I feel alive again. I don’t think quitting our rides will affect my blood sugar.”
“Those rides are good for you Artie,” I said. “Fresh air. Oxygen in your lungs. Getting out in nature is healing.”
“When are you going to ride with us, Viv?” Artie asked. “We keep asking.”
Never. I would never ride a motorcycle again.
“I appreciate the offer, but life is so busy these days with school. One sugar-free lemonade coming your way my friend.”
I weaved around the sober customers, the tipsy folks, and all the in-betweens on my way back to the bar.
I hoisted my tray onto the counter and delivered my order to Buddy Paulsen, the bartender and co-owner. Buddy was thick around the waistline, covered in tats, and sported a ruddy Irish complexion. Fifty years ago he could have been the poster child for a Rebel Without a Cause. Now he was a businessman who desperately wanted to keep his waning crowd of aging bikers happy while he catered to the bar’s newcomers. I unloaded the dirty glasses onto a rubber mat.
My BFF, Lola Consuela Campillio, she of the tall legs and the dangerous curves, strode up in the same uniform I too had recently been forced to wear: a tight pleather mini, a deep V-neck Lycra top, fishnet stockings and black pleather, thigh pinching, high-heeled boots. She rested her tray on the bar next to mine. “I’m filing an official complaint, Buddy. I hate these new uniforms.”
“I second Lola’s motion.” I tugged my mini lower onto my legs to better cover my private girlie parts. “These outfits make us look like sluts from Slutsville and I fear I’m getting a bunion. How come we can’t wear our Mugshots T-shirts and jeans?”
“You both know why. I’m not in charge of this place anymore. Mike Woodman is.”
“Woodman doesn’t care that I have to change clothes in the bathroom because God forbid I go home wearing this and my kid wakes up and sees hooker mommy,” Lola said. “I’m putting meals on the table. I cannot deal with Child Protective Services.”
“Lola, you gotta play nice with the new guys. It was sell a stake in the place or close the doors. I love Mugshots. It wasn’t an easy decision.”
Buddy sold his majority share of the bar to thirty-something businessman Mike Woodman. He came from family money and parlayed his trust fund into making a shit-load more dough in the stock market. Woodman got bored and then bought up his favorite interests like they were Tonka toys. His purchases included a bowling alley, a Harley-Davidson dealership, a strip club, a Baptist church along with its charismatic leader, and finally, a biker bar—Mugshots.
Which pained me.
While I’d only worked here since the day I turned twenty-one—nine months earlier—I’d hung out here for far longer. My dad used to frequent the joint with his buddies. And before it was considered child-abuse to take your kid to a bar, he’d bring me along on the nights Mom was working.
I hung out with the bikers, heard the stories about the rides, and the Sturgis’ outings. After my folks died in a motorcycle accident four years ago you’d think I’d want to get away from a biker bar. But the problem was this place felt like family. And I didn’t have a lot of that left.
So I started bugging Buddy to let me waitress at Mugshots. At the end of my first night he opened a bottle of Korbel, the regulars sang “Happy Birthday”, someone popped for cupcakes and Mylar balloons, and I had my first legal drink.
You’d think I’d like the new clientele at the newly remodeled bar. They were, after all, closer to my age. But Woodman’s crew was privileged and the majority of them were asshats. They always hung out at the biggest table in the middle of the cozy sized joint. Woodman would make his nightly appearance and buy a round or two for the snotty boys. He’d play with his gold pin
ky ring like he was a short, chubby version of Marlon Brando in The Godfather, sucking up all the cloying compliments about how he was “the man.”
“Hey princess!” a twenty-something metro dude seated at Woodman’s table yelled. “Get your primo behind over here. I’m parched.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” I loaded my tray with drinks. “You’re sure this lemonade doesn’t have sugar, right?”
“No sugar,” Buddy said. “Hurry up. Stop spending all your time hanging with the old crew and wait on the new guys. They’re our future. Be nice to them.”
“The new guys tip like shit.”
“They’re filling seats and buying booze.”
MOVIE STAR Page 14